


The Workarounds

by 3amepiphany



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy References, keurigs of the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given enough time I'm sure it would have produced something akin to frozen yogurt at some point. Infinite monkeys with typewriters, yadda yadda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Workarounds

**Author's Note:**

> An apology.
> 
> That's it, that's the apology.

There was a specific protocol set in place that was designed meticulously over the course of a quarter and enacted in league with accounting’s annual review early on in their conquering run through the Centauri sector.

It was simple, really - at least, in bureaucratic terms.

An order had to be placed to and signed in triplicate by maintenance, zoning, and accounting. Then it had to be sent in to have the language approved by the cabinet and upon that approval, sent back to each of the signees for a holding period. An official query had to be made into the form before it was to become officially “lost”, and then “found”, and then it had to be posted for public inquiry. It was to be “lost” one more time before being buried in the soft peat at the foot of the Temple of Backalackabingbong for three months, after which it would be retrieved and recycled as a firelighter in the torture chambers.

It was an age-old, very good protocol, borrowed from the Galactic Civil Service. It allotted enough time to pass in its process for Lord Hater to entirely forget the requests he’d been guided to make in this manner, and at no point was Commander Peepers ever actually obligated to approve and carry out the requests that he would tell Hater to submit.

So when he wandered down the way between his quarters and his and Haters’ dining hall in the wee hours of the morning, with the intent to ask the night-shift meal staffers for the breakfast rider he had submitted the evening before to make some changes to it (he found himself craving a muffin instead of toast and egg, and he knew if he had a muffin, Hater would want muffins too) and to pick up a carafe of hot water for some tea, he was very confused to see what looked like the frozen yogurt machine from the food court just suddenly there, in the wall, when it hadn’t been there a dozen hours earlier. For a few minutes he stood there, staring at it in his insomniatic haze, before noting the small placard towards the top right corner.

“ **Sirius CC** ,” it read, in bold, blue letters, in a soothing font. Just below it and in italics, it said, “ _Share and Enjoy._ ” This was in black and the kerning was a little weird, but otherwise it was kind of elegant.

He wondered momentarily if they’d ever enacted the martial law that would have had this company up against the wall when they had conquered that arm of the galaxy.

But shortly that was forgotten in the wash of panic that flooded over him in realizing that he had not approved this installation.

The protocol had failed, and he knew it. He knew it.

He asked the staffers what it was. They shrugged, and gave him his hot water and some buzzlebee honey, and assured him it couldn’t possibly be another froyo machine. They already had thirty-two of them - one flavor more than a popular chain to appease Hater.

He headed back to his room and eyed the machine again as he passed it, looking at the great big green button on it and how it glowed softly, sort of demanding that he push it. Without knowing what it would do, he certainly wasn’t going to push the button. Not yet. Once in his quarters again, he pulled his favorite mug out of the cabinet over his desk and set a bag of tea to steep. Then he sent off a few emails to maintenance, zoning, and accounting. Knowing that it would be hours before they would be answered, he started going through his inbox, looking for anything related to this installation.

There wasn’t anything.

He just couldn’t figure it out - he’d been up and down that hallway several times yesterday. He’d even retired back to his quarters a bit later than usual, and he hadn’t yet been to sleep. He’d spent some time doing paperwork and did some light reading. He had thought about putting on some music, but decided against it. He would have - he should have been able to hear easy conversation happening down the hallway at least as far as the machine if not his personal entrance to Hater’s quarters. How he hadn’t heard that thing being installed was beyond him. As he added the honey to his tea he made a mental note to commend the staffers for putting up with his late night requests.

The nap he managed was fitful and lacking, but he made his bed, showered and dressed, shined his helmet and boots, and pulled on his gloves with no less gusto. Down the hallway, past the machine, and towards the dining hall he went. There was the usual morning inspection and greeting of the guard posted outside the doorway. He was handed his docket of news and reports for the day, and he very quietly asked them if they would come and get him once there were signs of life from Hater’s quarters.

The guards seemed a little perplexed, but nodded and saluted him as he went inside.

He was served his coffee, and his muffin and a bowl of fruit. He ate and read through the docket in total peace and had just finished checking the email responses he’d gotten on the matter (none of the answers were the same, so something was up) when the door opened, and one of the guards came in and addressed him. “Sir, Lord Hater requests your assistance in the hallway.”

Hater was standing next to the machine. Before he could give him his morning spiel, Peepers was interrupted.

“Did you miss me at breakfast this morning, CPeeps?”

“Sir, if you just tell me what it is and what it does and how you bypassed the work order protocol I won’t be mad. For at least ten minutes.”

His boss grinned. “If you break at five I get to keep this.”

“If I don’t, you’re going to keep it anyways, but here, I’ll start the timer.” He pushed the cuff of his glove aside to set the timer on his wristwatch.

“Good call,” Hater said. “I saw this on T.V. last week.” After waiting for some more info, Peepers made a small gesture for him to continue. He turned to the machine and pressed the button. The machine turned on.

“I am the Nutrimatic Drinks Dispenser from the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation. Thank you for choosing my services. Please stand still.”

Peepers watched Hater stand as still as a statue for what seemed like an eternity. “You ordered a personal vending machine…?”

Between his gritted smile, Hater said, “Wait, wait.”

Suddenly it dispensed a little paper cup and some brownish, steaming hot liquid. Then, it said, “Thank you. Share, and enjoy.”

“So,” the Commander drew this out a bit. “It’s a personal coffee vending machine.”

Hater grabbed the cup and blew at it a bit, trying to cool it down. “It’s a Nutri-drink-o-matic Maker. I turn it on and it scans me and it makes a drink tailored TO. ME. My very own drink. No one else will ever drink what I drink because it’s tailored TO. ME. To me and MY taste buds.”

Peepers’ watch went off. He silenced it and said, “Ok, it’s been five minutes. I’m mostly just really confused right now. Who did you yell at to make this happen and what kind of reparations will I have to have accounting add to their next paycheck?”

“Oh, that would be half of the cabinet.”

“What…?”

“Yeah, you took a bathroom break between report presentations and I took the opportunity to yell at them and threaten them with torture until they gave me what I wanted because I didn’t feel like filling out a form.” Hater sipped at his drink. Then he made a face, spit out what he’d had in his mouth, and started retching and gagging. This went on for a short while, and slowed to some dramatic coughing, and finally, Hater threw the still mostly full cup of liquid at the machine. It spattered everywhere. Peepers sighed. He had just sent his dry-cleaning to Giuseppe’s yesterday. “That was so not a drink for me.”

The machine whirred. “If you have experienced the joy of this drink, why not share it with your friends?”

“There was no joy in that drink.”

“It was individually tailored to meet your personal requirements for nutrition as well as pleasure.”

Hater growled a bit. “Listen, I didn’t like it, why would anyone else like it?”

The Commander patted him on the arm, grabbing his attention away from the machine and its banal responses. “Have you… literally not used this thing yet? Perhaps it just needs to be calibra--”

“You try it.”

Warily, Peepers stood before the machine, trying to avoid the mess from the last cup, and he looked at that green button again. He pushed it. It went down with a very satisfying click, the light turning off for just a second before turning back on as the button sprung back out. Smooth and deceivingly well-crafted. The machine whirred a bit and said, “Thank you for choosing the Nutrimatic Drinks Dispenser for your refreshment. Please stand still.”

“Sir-”

“Shh, you gotta wait. Maybe moving messes it up.”

He stood stock still, and waited. Finally, he received his own little paper cup filled with what looked like the same, brown, hot liquid, and his own “Share, and enjoy,” and he turned to Hater and asked, “What is it doing when it tells you to stand still?”

“It looks at your brain and your taste buds and stuff and your metabolism, I guess. I threw the manual away. Are you gonna drink that?” Hater watched him intensely as he reached for the cup.

It tasted like tea. Slightly sweetened but perfectly steeped black tea. It was really, really good.

He gave it to Hater, and the conqueror took a big swig. He made a face, of course, but that was it - he wasn’t a stranger to tea or a fan of it, but this definitely was not what the machine had dispensed for him minutes earlier. Peepers addressed the machine. “Nutrimatic, hello, some help, please?”

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“How do you operate?”

“I am programmed to make an instant but highly detailed examination of your taste buds, a spectroscopic analysis of your metabolism, and then I send tiny experimental signals down the neural pathways to the taste centers of the subject's brain to see what is likely to be well received. It is a very simple, very painless process for you and you need not worry about the insignificant, almost negligible levels of gamma ray exposure.”

He and Hater looked at one another for just a moment. “Okay, Is there a name for the drink you have just dispensed for me?”

“Tea.”

“Tea?”

“The definition of tea as is programmed in my system is that of dried up organic plant matter boiled in water.”

“It looked at you and decided off the bat that you liked the most boring flarping drink in the galaxy,” Hater said, on the verge of laughter.

“With all due respect sir tea is one of the most popular drinks in this galaxy and it didn’t even originate here, it came from a different one.”

The machine whirred. “That galaxy did not know any better. Would you like another cup?”

“Oh,” he said, startled. He gestured at Hater and Hater shook his head. “No, Nutrimatic, thank you.” It thanked him back, “Share, and enjoy”-ed him again, and went idle. They stood there quietly, taking in that odd experience. Hater finished the tea and played with the empty cup, then wandered towards the dining hall, hollering about getting some regular coffee. Peepers gave the machine a small glance over his shoulder before following after him, and then stopped for a second and groaned because Hater was tracking the spilled drink everywhere.

As the conqueror was enjoying his surprise muffins with his breakfast, he grumbled, “I want to get rid of it.”

Peepers put down the docket he was reading excerpts from and shrugged. “You know sir, if you like, I can fill out the work order forms for getting rid of the Nutrimatic. But you went through all that trouble of breaking protocol to have it put in. Also I’d bet it will figure you out at some point soon. You’re… you’re incredibly complex and hard to predict, sir. It seems only natural that you would outwit a machine so easily.”

Hater was quiet, but then he finally grunted his acceptance of this explanation. “I guess it can stay. But the day it finally does figure me out is the day I rip it out of the wall with my own bare hands.”

“That’s reasonable, sir,” Peepers said, trying his best not to be smug about it and already looking forward to another sip of that glorious tea.


End file.
